


Prompt 10 (Lennox)

by Yoselin



Series: L&L Tumblr Prompts [11]
Category: Love & Legends (Visual Novel)
Genre: Blood, F/M, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-03 22:22:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14006091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoselin/pseuds/Yoselin
Summary: Name used here is Hannah.Warnings for blood and violence.Prompt: “Prompt 45 “Do you trust me?” with Lennox and featuring the MC as a morality pet/chain? (More info on that in tvtropes).”





	Prompt 10 (Lennox)

It is truly astounding how fate has led up to this. Nearly two years ago, I was just a girl from Chicago struggling through student loans and a mediocre office job. Then a lightning storm hit and I was suddenly being thrust into a world marred by war and strife.   
From there, time blurs and warps.   
Somehow I found myself becoming a prisoner of war to what was left of the Witch Queen’s Generals, and then found myself becoming Lennox’s.   
At first I had struggled, resisted bitterly against him and hated him, but then I had grown to understand him. Rather than seeing a captor callous to killing and using others like playthings, I saw a tortured soul in need of compassion and warmth.   
Lennox pushed others away, frightened them and made them hate him, and that made him lonely. His eyes held pain hidden behind malice. That had broken my heart. From the moment I had seen the pain locked away in his golden eyes, I had swore to myself that I would fix it.   
Now, a year later, I was confident I was doing just that. It is difficult to keep Lennox out of trouble, he practically radiates it, but I’ve managed somehow. I’ve learned to navigate his personality, soothe his ego, and melt his ire. It is hard sometimes, but I’ve become an expert.   
With just simple words and touches, I can calm him down. I can get him to see reason and back off from confrontation.   
This is a gift that I have to employ often-  
Like now.   
My fingers press to my throat in trepidation and I watch the scene before me.   
Lennox has a cultist of his pinned against the chapel wall. The man has endured a severe beating at his hands for the past few minutes and looks inches away from blacking out. The dagger at his throat isn’t helping either.   
To the side, the other cultists try to make themselves scarce. They flatten against the stained glass windows of the tiny church and avoid looking directly at the conflict lest they be sucked in.   
I gnaw on my bottom lip as the blade presses closer to the man’s throat. A rivulet of red springs from where the knife digs into the skin, and I decide that is my cue.   
Softening my expression into a gentle smile, I move my hands behind my back and lower my voice into something sweet.   
“Lennox, that’s enough, I think he’s learned his lesson,” I murmur.   
One of my hands comes to rest against Lennox’s arm holding the knife, and I softly trace my fingers around his arm. Pressing close so that I am leaning against his back, I rest my chin on his shoulder.   
“Stop before you kill him, yeah?” I whisper.   
Lennox glares at me, yet I meet his stare head on. I’ve learned to read when his anger becomes a threat to me, and this is not one of those times. Hence, I feel entirely at ease at his side.   
“Don’t get involved, Hannah,” he snaps.   
I click my tongue and slowly take the knife from his hand. He lets me, eyeing me with irritation, and I wipe the bloodied blade against my dress.  
“You really need to get your anger in control, love. Red isn’t a pretty color on you. Now, if you’re done, why don’t you take me home?”  
I tuck the dagger into his pocket then pull out the handkerchief he keeps in his other one. Using this, I wipe at the blood gently on his cheek.   
He lets me for a tick then bats my hand away. Sending me a warning glare that has no effect, he releases his hold on his cultist who promptly passes out. His body slides to the cobbled floor with a thud and I narrowly avoid getting blood on my shoes.   
Biting my cheek at the horrid display, I slip my hand into Lennox’s palm and tug at it.   
“Can we go now? I feel sick.” I make a face to stress my point.   
“In a moment,” he hisses.   
He moves to approach his congregation, still silently cowering against the windows, yet my grip remains strong in his. Noting this, he makes no attempt to free himself. Instead, his thumb traces a pattern into my knuckles.   
I let him and squeeze his hand in turn. A show of silent support that easily lifts some of the tension and anger from his shoulders.   
“This man tried to desert our Queen, he has paid for his crimes now. As soon as he awakes, I call upon my true believers to take him into custody. He shall become a sacrifice to the Queen he has tried to abandon. I leave his fate to her Majesty. Let the world know that I am a kind preacher who will not take his life myself and will instead let him redeem himself through sacrifice.”   
His voice echoes against the hall and I feel a soft smile playing on my lips.   
The confidence he radiates now is exhilarating. Once, only anger bled through his body, but now he seems at ease with the world around him.   
His words sink in to the masses and some of the fear ebbs away. His voice is powerful, commanding, and it demands compliance. Lennox has a power about him that creates subservience and breeds obedience. His gift is truly astounding and it has taken my breath away more times than I can count.   
Out of sheer excitement, I squeeze his hand again.  
Satisfied with his cultists, he turns away. His overcoat swishes behind his heels and he tugs at my arm. His grip is forceful, strong, and I have to hurry to keep up with his long strides.   
“Are you alright?” I ask. The chapel door swings shut behind us and a shrill whistle from his lips brings a carriage around.   
“Fine,” he snaps back.   
His tone is venomous, biting, and I ignore it. He isn’t mad at me, I know, he’s still seething from his cult’s disobedience. I’ve learned not to take his anger to heart.   
The carriage door swings open and he steps in first. He swings himself into the tiny room then extends his hand to me almost as an afterthought. I don’t let this get to me. The fact that he even remembers to help me in is an improvement. At one point he used to hurt me until I managed to get in on my own.   
Once inside the carriage, I smooth out my skirts and fold my legs to the side. My hands go to his on his lap and I intertwine our fingers together.   
“Your knuckles are bruised,” I comment. My fingers trace at the blooming wounds across his hands.   
He pulls his hands out of my grasp. “You are a nuisance.”  
His tone is biting again and I see his Adam’s Apple jump. This is a sign that his temper is simmering again. I shudder, nervousness eating at my stomach, and press my hands tightly to my legs.   
The carriage jerks forward and we are on the move. Asides from the clapping of the horse’s hooves against the pavement, it is quiet.   
I don’t like the quiet. More than that, I don’t like what the quiet means.   
Quiet means that Lennox is stirring in his thoughts mentally, putting up walls that take forever to breach, forcing me out of his mind with a lock and key. This is always a nerve wracking event.   
I need to know what he is thinking. His mind is often a swirl of rage and scheming that I need to regulate. Before he had me, Lennox was reckless in everything he did. Without me, I fear he could easily get himself killed.   
I breathe out a sigh, assess the mood again, and bite my lip. In the few moments that we’ve been on the move, his rage has gone down. From the way some of the tension is leaving his shoulders and his eyes are flickering to me, I know he feels better now.   
I let this motivate me.   
Moving so that I am now seated next to him and almost tucked into his side, I rest my head on his shoulder.   
As always, Lennox gets tense when he senses me. His body locks up, his hands move for his knife, and his gaze bores into me with venom-  
But then he relaxes. His hands go from his dagger to his sides and he squares his jaw with a prickle of annoyance.   
“Have I ever told you how clingy you are?”   
“Always,” I chirp. My hands grab his again and I brush the bruises on his knuckles with the tips of my fingers. He flinches and hisses a warning at me yet I continue. “Your temper is growing worse by the day. You really need to learn to count to ten before acting out. Your cult is already fractured enough as it is with the growing war with Wolfson and the others, the last thing you need is a reason for them to break away.”  
Lennox shoves my hands away with a huff and I flinch. Perhaps I pushed too far. I can feel the walls coming up around him again. If there’s one thing he hates is me telling him how to manage his church. I need to back off slightly and move on to the greater elephant in the room.   
I move my head away from his shoulder and fold my hands across my lap. He takes the time to pull his dagger from his pocket and twirl it around his fingers. I watch as the blade glints in the sunlight as he moves it from finger to finger like a pencil. Once I was afraid of him cutting himself, but I’ve since learned that his expertise is far too great to allow himself to be injured.   
I tear my gaze away from his fidgeting and bite the inside of my cheek.   
“I’m serious about your temper, Lennox. You get angry too quickly and don’t think before you act. Last week Alain almost took your head, the week before that it was Helena. If you don’t reel in your temper, I’m afraid of what might happen.”  
The carriage is quiet. I bite my lip hard enough until it stings.   
“You scared me today. The moment you jumped out of your seat and attacked that cultist, I was afraid. I haven’t seen you like that in a long time, Lennox, not since I tried to escape last year,” I drop my voice, “I was afraid of you.”  
My words echo against the carriage walls although I have no idea if they ring true. Lennox makes no effort to speak or defend himself. He always shuts down when I scold him and sometimes he blatantly ignores me. I don’t know if this is one of those times.   
More than a little frustrated with his lack of response, I look away. I entertain myself with staring at the passing landscape from the carriage window. I busy myself counting the passing trees like seconds if only to give myself something to do other than fret. My piece has been said today and I don’t want to keep pushing him.   
Last time I scolded Lennox, he threatened to slit my throat before shoving me out of the carriage and forcing me to walk the rest of the way to the palace. Since then, I’ve learned to pick my battles and keep quiet.   
I make it to tree number 42 before Lennox seizes my arm. I hiss as his nails dig into my arm and he yanks the sleeve of my dress down.   
His knife dances across my skin and he applies pressure along my radial artery. The blade’s cool metal presses against my skin yet it doesn’t go deep enough to break the it. I clench my jaw.   
“ **Do you trust me?** ” Lennox asks.   
A test. I don’t hesitate.   
“Yes,” I breathe out.   
He moves the blade along and carves a path. This time the skin is broken and some blood wells up. I hiss in pain and he moves the knife up to my throat.   
I tilt my head back to give him access.   
The knife presses against old scars there, scars where he had played this game before, once even to the point of nearly severing my jugular vein. I let him.   
“How confident are you that I will keep you alive? You have become an annoyance for far too long,” he presses his lips to my ear.   
I don’t reply, the knife at the side of my neck making it impossible, and just place my hand over the one with the knife.   
We stay like that for a few moments, locked in a risky game, and then Lennox withdraws. He slides the knife down where a tiny pinprick of pain registers before going back to twirling it.   
I press my finger to the side of my neck and feel a small spot of blood where the skin was breached. I wipe it away with my sleeve and put my hand on his knee.   
“You would never kill me,” I whisper.   
“Why are you so confident? I am growing very bored with you and may just want an upgrade. I could stab you right now and leave your body in the woods to rot. No one would care. I would not care,” he hisses.   
I shake my head and guide his hand with the knife to my left side. I rest it there, between my fourth and fifth rib, and meet his gaze with a challenge.   
“You’ve had plenty of chances already. The truth is you love me,” I tease. To goad him further, I apply pressure on his grip.   
The blade cuts through my dress but never goes past the fabric. I feel the cold metal against my skin for a brief moment before he pulls his grip free.   
He scoffs. “Love is a child’s fable. I tolerate you.”  
I shrug, undaunted, and take the knife from him. He watches as I twirl it around my own fingers with mild interest, only cutting myself s few times, and leans his head black.   
“Well I do love you,” I retort.   
I give a final twirl of the knife, slice my palm painfully until blood drips down unto the floor of the carriage, then press my palm against my dress to stop it.   
Lennox snorts, amused, and takes my palm. He pulls his handkerchief out and presses it into my hand with more force than necessary then drops it. I stare down at the white fabric as it slowly turns red.   
He gathers the knife and licks at the bloodied blade before pushing it into his coat pocket.   
“It wasn’t that long ago,” he begins, “that you told me you hated me. You said the false Lord and his crew would rescue you from me and that you would make me pay. You used to hate me back then and would find every opportunity to run. What changed?”  
“You broke my leg so I couldn’t run,” I remind him. I tap at my knee with my non injured hand. “You shattered the bone so I couldn’t escape then nursed me back to health. That was the first time I realized you had a heart.”  
I close my eyes at the memory then lean close and press a kiss to his jaw. He moves away with a sound of disgust, yet I manage to catch the way his eyes soften a fraction.   
Lennox may try to hide it, but he does enjoy physical affection. Every kiss, every touch, every embrace, is silently enjoyed.   
In a life so unused to affection, he craves physical comfort. He may shove me away, mock me for being so clingy, or wipe away at his mouth, but I know he likes it.   
I feel it in the way he lets out a tiny breath of air with every touch, in the way his body replies to my stimulation, or in the way a silent groan leaves the back of his throat when he is driven to his peak.   
Either way, I know he cares.   
I repeat the action again, this time pressing my lips to his throat, and am rewarded with a small pant of a breath that he tries to hide. Smiling against his skin, I press my nose to the crook of his throat and shoulder and inhale his scent. He smells of blood and cologne, a bizarre combination that only he could pull off. I let my eyes close.   
The silence settles around us comfortably and carries on. I almost doze off with how long it lasts, utterly comfortable at his side, when Lennox moves his arm and jolts me awake. I blink up to find him staring down at me.   
“You are an enigma. I could easily kill you and not feel any remorse yet you remain by my side. Are you a masochist? Suicidal? Or perhaps just pathetic?”   
His words are harsh, yet his voice is barely above a whisper. It sounds like he is truly puzzled and trying to make sense of things. I find his hand and stroke small patterns into his palm.   
“None of the above. I just love you,” I smile.   
Lennox closes his eyes, I sense more than feel the little shudder that passes through him, and he digs his nails into my palm. They leave half moon crescents that look so similar to the ones that already adorn my body. I squeeze his hand in turn.   
“No one has ever said that to me before. Love does not exist.”  
Lennox grinds it out, almost like he is trying to remind himself of it, and my heart shatters all over again.   
This, this pain and loneliness that surrounds him and chokes him, is what I am trying to prevent. This is what I am trying to keep him from.   
Enveloped by desperation and heartbreak, I move forward and crush my mouth against his. He tenses, hands coiled to shove me off, before changing his mind and letting me. His hands move to my hair, yank the pin holding it in place out hard enough to sting my eyes, and knot into the strands.   
I clench my fists around his coat, pull him close until it is physically painful, and bite down on his lip hard enough until I taste blood.   
We stay locked like that until our lungs burn. Finally, I move away from him. My gaze is burning with frustration and heart ache. I card my fingers through his hair, brush a flyaway strand from his cheek, and lean my forehead against his.   
“I love you,” I force it out with as much emotion as possible.   
Lennox closes his eyes, bruised mouth thinning, and another little shudder passes through him. His hands stay locked in my hair and he tugs on it as if to steady himself.   
“Say it again,” he orders.   
I do so.   
He says my name, repeats it like a prayer, then digs his nails into my scalp.   
“Again,” he orders.   
Smiling and brushing another light kiss against his lips, I comply.


End file.
